Tag Archives: Taiwan

When I asked Taiwanese illustrator Phoebe Chen why so much of her art is about sex, she paused and thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Sometimes you just can’t explain why you’re drawn to something.”

The women in Chen’s drawings have all kinds of appearances and personalities: some are flirtatious, others are headstrong. Some are restless, while others give themselves over to pleasure. Yet they all accept themselves—and they especially embrace the feelings and desires that are often left unspoken.

“As a woman, and as an artist whose work is about desire, sometimes I get people looking at my art and thinking I’m ‘easy’ or ‘loose,'” says Chen. “It’s frustrating. A lot of people in our society still think that any woman who’s in control of her sexuality is a slut.”

On paper she lets her desire run free and unbridled. These sexually suggestive—not to say explicit—illustrations are an outlet for Chen’s imagination, a way for her to strike back at society. After all, it’s a society that enforces silence around sex and desire.

“The women in my drawings are rebellious-looking, like they don’t care what others think, but that’s actually the opposite of what I’m like,” she says. “I think that in today’s society, there’s hardly anyone who hasn’t wanted to escape from their own life at some point. Luckily I can draw, and through my art I can fully express the things I love and the way I want to be. Maybe I just like naked bodies and the aesthetics of desire. What’s wrong with that?”

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Sci-fi is about more than dreaming up fictional worlds—it’s about creating a visual universe, a futuristic aesthetic for everything from sunglasses to satchels. And in an era of video-game marathons and binge-watching sessions, elements of these sci-fi-inspired styles are bound to bleed into the real world. Fashion inspired by the genre might even, like the best speculative fiction, offer subtle commentary on our technology-saturated society.

These are the roots of Guerrilla Group, a Taiwanese brand that draws inspiration from classic sci-fi games and films like Metal Gear Solid, Alien, and Akira, and then translates it into apparel for everyday use. Although some of the pieces might look more suitable for future-themed fashion editorials, most are functional for the street.

The brainchild of Andrew Chen and Anthony Bui, Guerrilla Group creates everything from detailed jackets and layered pants to form-fitting tees and cross-body satchels. The brand emphasizes distinctive but practical materials, such as high-modulus polyethylene, lyocell, and transparent leather. The last of these is so new, in fact, that the producers won’t even tell them how it’s made. It’s stuff you rarely see but want to see more of.

Beyond their affinity for unusual materials, Guerrilla Group sets itself apart from other brands through its “storytelling” approach to fashion. Every new collection starts with a concept that’s then fleshed out with a story and visualized in a lookbook.

The stories crafted by Chen and Bui are rooted in fiction but take cues from the real world, and more often than not, they contain implicit social critique that confronts issues such as military fetishization and invasive authority. “A lot of our collections are actually trying to send a message of warning,” Chen says. “Like our End Of Secrecy line, which is based on PRISM, the American internet surveillance program. We’re addressing how governments control your information.”

As of late, the brand is starting to move away from the sci-fi aesthetics that defined its early years. One of its recently released satchels was based on Buddhist monk sling bags—though since it’s made of an experimental transparent material made by Ecco Leather, it still resembles something extraterrestrial.

A more significant departure from the brand’s sci-fi and techwear roots is a new line based on street racing. Inspired by old auto magazines, Japanese car mods, and manga comics, this collection revolves around a fictional auto body shop called Silent Works. Their campaign even includes three real-life customized cars, including a Nissan 240SX.

Guerrilla Group’s elaborate concepts and graphics-heavy designs hint at Chen and Bui’s ambitions beyond fashion. “Neither of us studied fashion design,” Chen notes. “Anthony was a graphic designer and I studied Art Design. This brand was actually my graduate thesis topic.” The duo ultimately hopes to operate a full-fledged creative agency under the banner Guerrilla Foundation for International Recon Media Group, or GFIRMG. They plan on expanding into film, product design, and visual design, and no matter the medium, they want to tell stories that meaningfully engage with a changing world.

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The murals of Taiwanese artist Debe balance deep dives into abstract patterns with a healthy respect for letter work. Kaleidoscopic, geometric wormholes and melting clouds swirl around graffiti-style words, while ripped paper edges and stark, angular shifts of color cut across his work. His pieces vibrate with energy, hypnotically drawing the eye into or along the wall.

Despite having no formal art or design training, Debe creates paintings with a studied personal style, avoiding the trends that dominate the world of street art. The swirling mandalas and interlocking shapes are an evolving element in his work. “Abstract shapes are a way for me to transfer my emotions. Whether I’m angry or anxious, I throw it up on the wall,” he explains.

Originally inspired by a local graffiti crew named Soul Skool and an online forum called Art Crimes, Debe began lurking along train tracks in his hometown Taoyuan during high school in 2005. He would experiment on tunnel walls with a local aerosol brand called PP. “When I was really young, my mom said I loved drawing on walls and the furniture, so maybe I was just meant to do it,” he laughs. The trackside walls were covered with pieces by other artists who further inspired him, like Dabs, one of the island’s best-known graffiti writers.

Local recognition first came from Debe’s posts on Wretch, a now-defunct Taiwanese social media platform. “I’m still trying to figure out how to connect the culture from home with my graffiti and street art,” he says. “Taiwanese society has always felt too traditional to me.”

He got early international acclaim in 2013 by painting in the first POW! WOW! Taiwan and Hong Kong Walls festivals. Now that the world knows his work, he gets to travel, painting in distant cities like Montreal and Brooklyn. It’s a good thing being an artist has worked out for him: “I used to do odd jobs, like working in a convenience store or a factory, but never for longer two months. I was never able do a ‘normal’ job well.”

Multi-color, wildstyle pieces have always been Debe’s focus, but when he just starting out he also liked to tag around town. Back then the police didn’t really even care and would simply tell him stop or to paint over his tags. But now that Taiwan has become a destination for traveling graffiti writers, the authorities have started to catch on. He still likes to tag now and then, but he mostly prefers more thoughtful interventions. “I’d rather paint some fun emojis on an advertising poster or something,” he says. “Something that inspires people, or makes them smile or think in a different way.”

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Taiwanese designer Wu Yi-Hsien understands that uncertainty is the only certainty in life. While initially troubled by this realization, her apprehension soon gave way to a newfound clarity: we’re all in the same boat. Or, as her animated short Floating Field has it, we’re all in our own fish boats. Her unconventional video, selected as a Design Mark winner in the Golden Pin Concept Design Awards, explores how each of us floats through life in search of meaning and purpose.

The animation takes place in a mysterious world where a series of amorphous blob characters each live inside or atop a floating fish. The story’s main character is a humble farmer who’s diligently at work planting seeds in hopes of a better tomorrow. As he drifts from scene to scene, he encounters characters of different backgrounds, all of whom are pursuing their own fulfillment. From a rich fish whose inhabitant is bathing in gold coins to a busy fish whose resident is running in place on a hamster wheel, every character is self-absorbed with their own interests and goals.

As time passes, the protagonist’s fish starts to age. His work seems to be all for naught as he descends beneath the clouds and is eventually swallowed by a murky black sea in what seems like the film’s ending. But a quote from Lord of the Rings reframes the context of the grim conclusion, reminding viewers that death isn’t necessarily the end. Through death—the death of our old selves, death of our fears, and the death of our insecurities—a new life begins. Moments later, the fish’s inhabitant re-emerges from the currents and steps ashore. He treads onwards, into new, uncharted lands that await exploration. As terrifying as it might be to face the unknown, only when we accept that it’s an inevitable part of existence, can we truly begin to experience all that life has to offer.

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In the world of Taiwanese illustrator Cinyee Chiu, there are no gloomy clouds, or even any people—just endless sunshine and a kaleidoscope of colors, birds, and flowers. Her works are idealized reveries painted as a pleasant routine, and they’re best enjoyed quietly, with a hot cup of tea. One can while away a long, leisurely time looking at them.

In her most well-known work, she’s drawn the jieqi, the two-week unit of the Chinese lunisolar calendar. People in former times divided the year into 24 such periods according to the position of the sun and moon, the passing of the seasons, and the changes in the weather. Chiu uses illustration to reinterpret this tradition, imagining each jieqi as an animal colored in a seasonal pattern, giving new life to a time-honored part of Chinese culture.

Chiu is a freelance illustrator, yet as she admits, she didn’t consider art as a career until after she graduated from university. She majored in economics and for a time worked in an unrelated field. Then one day she took up the brush she’d put away during college, quit her job, and began a degree at the Maryland Institute College of Art. That’s when she finally started pursuing her dreams.

Chiu says she feels most successful when she can use art to give form to the images in her head. “This kind of success is quite addictive,” she says.” If I don’t satisfy the craving once in a while, I start to get depressed.”

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Perhaps better known for its diverse food and its New Wave cinema, Taiwan has been quietly establishing its indie music cred in recent years. As the island’s cultural center, pluralistic, polymorphous Taipei has been awash in a range of aural delights, from post-rock, psychedelia and punk, to hip hop, folk, and jazz. Reverb-laden shoegaze and breathy dream pop bands in particular seem to sprout, blossom, and thrive in the capital’s languid, subtropical heat, with native species Manic Sheep, I Mean Us, DoZzz, and TuT offering a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors.

One Taiwanese dream-pop band in particular, U.TA, revels in cross-pollinating styles and genres to produce striking musical hybrids. Formed in 2013, the band includes vocalist Urayn and bassist Garry Lu, along with Garry’s brother John on guitars and their friend Tao on drums. Urayn and Garry started an embryonic version of the band back in 2006 but felt the need to expand their sonic horizons. “Although we started in Taichung when we released our EP as a duo,” Urayn recalls, “we thought that we’d be more complete if we had a full band.”

While all four share arrangement duties, Urayn writes all the songs herself. She also sees each one visually: “Each time I sing a song, I have a video script in mind. When I have more time and energy in the future, I’d like to transform each song into a video to reveal the conceptual basis behind it.” With such a cinematic outlook, it’s no surprise that the band is drawn to the emotional richness of Hong Kong cinema, and in particular the films of Wong Kar-wai.

Their musical DNA includes dream pop pioneers Cocteau Twins, Chinese musical icon Faye Wong (who starred in Wong Kar-wai’s ChungkingExpress and 2046), and the dark hues of American band Mazzy Star. “Our music is like a constellation. Just as there are twelve types of people [in the Chinese zodiac], shoegaze, for example, is one type of music, but we can mix it with other types like punk or hip-hop to create something unique.” Anyone who’s listened to the band’s 2015 release “Highway Cruising” will recognize its unique combination of styles and influences.

Unlike many bands, U.TA is equally at home on stage and in the studio, which they see as two sides of the same coin. “If you don’t create complex lyrical arrangements in the studio, then the live performance won’t be solid either,” they say. Studio work allows them to refine their sound until it matches their emotional register, while live performances offer a more immediate connection with their audiences. Fans in Taiwan, Japan, mainland China, or Hong Kong might respond in slightly different ways, and concerts offer instant feedback that can’t be replicated in the studio.

What do they think about Taipei itself? “We live in a city brimming with inspiration,” says Urayn. “From the beauty of traditional Chinese characters, to the ways people connect with each other, to the flavors of the city, it all deeply influences our work.” The energy of Taiwan’s capital has spawned various musical events along with a growing roster of clubs and record labels to support them. “Taipei is absolutely heading towards becoming a city of music, and I’m so excited about it.”

Currently at work on a new album, the band reveals they’re exploring urban elements such as “fog” and “fragrance” but will maintain their trademark shoegaze sound. As Urayn enthuses, “What I’m most looking forward to this time is that we’ve invited many musicians from different countries to create new songs together.” Global in outlook, defined by the sights and sounds of Taipei streets, U.TA represents the best of Taiwan’s musical cosmopolitanism. Their openness to experimentation is helping to put their city on the indie music map.

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Matter and energy are absolutesEverything is made of atomsWe’re just sleepwalking inDifferent dreams constructed by equationsSo I’m the cosmosSo you’re the cosmos

Every song is accompanied by a painting.

On the Murky Crows album It’s Okay We Will Meet in Other Ways, the Taiwanese band ponders the idea that our universe is simply an ever-changing reconfiguration of atoms. Each of the album’s ten imaginative tracks tells stories that revolve around themes of space, eternity, and the meaning of life. The band’s lead singer, Li Zhongli, not only guides listeners through these narratives with his gentle vocals but also makes use of his artistic talents, painting ten different portraits that portray the protagonists of each song.

Listen to the full album and check out the accompanying artworks for each track below:

01

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02

带领我前往银河的方向
我们总有天再相聚

Guide me toward the Milky WayWe will meet again one day

03

悄悄对我诉说他的秘密这也是我们不撑伞的原因就像我们的存在不需证明我们也不常缅怀年轻因为我们 只因我们将永远年轻地死去

Whisper to me his secretsThis is why we no longer need umbrellasJust as we need no proof we existWe aren’t nostalgic for our youthAnd it’s all because, all becauseWe’ll forever die young

04

不知为何我看到你的脸偷偷留下眼泪如果有那么一天不小心突然发现你并没那么特别其实也无所谓

I can’t figure out whywhen I see your faceI shed hidden tearsBut if one dayI accidentally discoverYou’re not all that specialThen it doesn’t matter all that much

05

轻烟袅袅弥漫在这被诅咒的村落青年骑着他的马恰恰地在此经过村民指着青年说请你将我们拯救在西边的深山里住着一个恶魔

Smoke fills the air in this cursed villageAs the young man passes by on his horseThe villagers point and say, “Save us!
Deep in the western mountains lives a devil.”

06

飞过世界每个尽头或许有天再遇见我喔这是如此美好的歌只希望这都是真的

Having flown every inch of the globePerhaps one day you’ll meet me againWhoa-oh it’s such a beautiful songI just hope that it’s all real

07

请问你 你的王国可是金色请问你 你的王国可是银色亲爱的国王留下一抹微笑从此消失在森林里

Pray tell, your kingdom is made of goldPray tell, your kingdom is made of silverWith a faint smile, the beloved kingDisappears into the forest

08

为我弹奏这孤单的歌带我悄悄离开这个荒谬人生荒谬人生暂时再见了

Play me this song of lonelinessTake me quietly away from thisSenseless life, senseless lifeFarewell for now

09

谢谢你为我完成这甜蜜复仇那就再麻烦你吃掉牠的身体和灵魂让我成为你

Thank you for helping me take my sweet revengeBut again, I must ask youTo devour its body and soulAnd let me become you

10

周六的你在周日死去你的眼泪只留下一滴成为了云下成了雨

Your Saturday self died on SundayOf your tears only a single drop remainsIt formed a cloudAnd fell as rain

After releasing It’s Okay We Will Meet in Other Ways, the band went silent for three years. During that time, many fans learned that frontman Li Zhongli’s moved out of Taipei and opened the Miaoko Hostel in Hualien. Here time ambles along at a slower pace. Every day the sun rises and sets with a sea breeze, and everywhere you look is blue.

Many of the original paintings from the album are on display in the hostel, allowing visitors from all over the world to enjoy them, and in turn, discover the band’s music. Even though he’s left Taipei, Li hasn’t stopped creating music. The Murky Crows’ latest album, I’m Just a Sad Boy Who Lives in a Handsome Body, is slated for release later this year.

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In the outdoor plaza in front of Taipei Fine Arts Museum, a structure of scaffolding and mesh beckons passersby within the folds of its flowing fabric and swirling mist. Mist Encounter is an installation project designed by Serendipity Studio and Kuan-Wei Chen Architects, created with the goal of showing people how invisible air currents constantly interact with our bodies and movements.

Using a water mist system, the installation gives unseen airflow visible shape. As the mist drifts through and around the draped textiles, unrestricted by the boundaries of the square aluminum frame, it’s difficult to discern where the installation ends and begins. The free-flowing mist continuously takes on new forms – transforming based on the sun’s position and the wind’s intensity – to create different experiences for visitors throughout the day.

Mist Encounter is one of the many inspiring participants that blur the line between art and design in the 2018 Golden Pin Design Award. This year’s call for entries will end on June 28 at 5 pm (GMT+8). Visit the Golden Pin Design Award website for more details.

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Taiwanese illustrator Whooli Chen creates worlds teeming with flowers and plants and fills them with characters from her wildly active imagination. In these fantastical worlds, you might see flowers sprouting from a girl’s eyes, flames leaping from a boy’s heart, or a pair of hands manipulating reality from the side of the frame. Her illustrations are like fables or fairy tales, but a happy ending isn’t guaranteed.

After graduating with a bachelor’s degree in fine arts, Chen moved to the UK to pursue a master’s degree in illustration. It was there that she chose her artistic name. “A few months before I left London, looking out from my window to the house across the way, I noticed a red fox that would often bask in the backyard sun,” she says. “It’s one of my last memories of my time there, so I chose the name ‘Chen Whooli’ on a whim as a tribute to that fox and that city.” (Whooli is pronounced huli, which means “fox” in Chinese.)

Chen likes the tactile simplicity of pencil and paper, so when working on a new illustration, she often starts with a hand-drawn sketch. Afterward she’ll scan and color it digitally. Attentive to details, her illustrations often include subtleties that are designed to be appreciated by the keenest of observers. Her illustrations feel like pop-up books – they’re immersive and beckon viewers into each frame.

While her style is soft and delicate, a sense of melancholy seems to linger. But rather than asking the artist to define the messages and themes behind her works, it’s much more fun to wander into Chen’s make-believe worlds and conjure up stories of your own.

Chen’s rich, vibrant style is revealing of the artists who’ve influenced her. “I think artistic creation is a process of gradual change. You’re constantly taking in new stimuli, integrating them into your own style. I really like early Western naturalist prints, along with Persian miniatures and early Japanese woodcuts. Every so often I’ll come across a new artist I like, such as early 20th-century French illustrator George Barbier, who I recently discovered and think is really great.”

繁复多彩的创作风格，也许是受到平常喜欢艺术家的影响。“我觉得创作是一个缓慢变动的过程，不停地吸收新的刺激，再融入原本的风格。我很喜欢西方早期动植物学的版画，也喜欢波斯细密画，和日本早期的木刻版画。通常每隔一段时间会接触到新的喜欢的图像作品，我最近的新发现是百年前的法国插画家 George Barbier，觉得很喜欢。”

Now that she’s a full-time illustrator, Chen often finds that her professional and personal interests are hard to separate. Still, even with her busy life, she likes to take things slow in her free time. “I mostly like to read, watch films, go on easy hikes, stroll around the nearby alleyways of the old city, and spend time relaxing,” she says.

But aside from her passion for illustration, Chen is also an avid writer. Sometime-Else Practice is a side project she runs with graphic designer Chen Jibao. “It’s a way for us to freely practice creative forms we enjoy outside of our jobs,” she tells us. “We write about art, illustration, and photography in an expressive style – almost going overboard in talking about works we like.”

If you like Chen’s drawings, you can see a different side of her work by clicking here.

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With a head full of curly hair and an oversized coat, 9m88 is a jazz singer who has risen to fame in the Taiwanese music scene in recent times. Her fashion sense often radiates a stylish retro vibe, sprinkled with offbeat, comical touches in the detail. From head to toe, the way she dresses is reminiscent of someone from straight out of an 80s discotheque. Her unique, idiosyncratic style is what’s most striking about her, after her voice.

9m88’s unexpected rise to fame came about following a successful collaboration with rapper Leo Wang on “Weekends with You.” She has a deep, sultry, alluring sound, the kind that feels more fitting for the age of cassette tapes than our Spotify generation. With nothing to go on but a voice alone, it’d be easy to attribute her voice to a soul singer with a few decades under her belt. But in reality, 9m88 is a millennial whose music career is just taking off.

My name is 9m, sounds like Joanne

Perhaps like me, you were mystified the first time you saw the name 9m88 – it almost looks like the name of a radio station. In reality, 9m (“jiu em”) is an approximation the English name Joanne, while 88 (“ba ba”) comes from her childhood nickname, Xiaoba.

Ever since she was a child, 9m88 dreamed of becoming a star, she confesses with a laugh. And that always meant through music. She often had intricate fantasies about being on stage with backup dancers performing behind her. “At some point, I’ll have to shoot a few music videos with singing and dancing – definitely!” she laughs. “But now that my artistic career is becoming serious, I’m looking at things more from the perspective of 9m88, figuring out what I want to bring to this world as an artist.”

While she may not have a group of glamorous backup dancers or tens of thousands of fans at her concerts yet, it doesn’t matter much to her. She just wants to live her life honestly and simply. Even without the resources of a mega-celebrity, she’s still able to create meaningful work when inspiration strikes.

The song “Nine Head Hinano” is a great example of this – it’s a theme song she wrote for a key ring designed by her friends Sid and Geri. The key ring is made up of nine heads, with each representing a different woman. The lyrics describe each woman with a single short line, revealing a little secret about their lives, such as “Joanne sang jazz but didn’t make it, had to work selling juice on the side of the road” (in Taiwan roadside juice stalls are often staffed by attractive women), or “Janet just wanted a little love, went on Tinder but got no likes.”

With this song, the message she hopes to communicate is that people come in different shapes and sizes – there’s not necessarily a one-size-fits-all model. In 9m’s opinion, in a society with an increasingly unified standard of beauty, everyone’s gotten so used to striving for so-called perfection that they’ve forgotten that having flaws is healthy and perfectly normal. It’s an intriguing song that sounds casual but is layered with meaning.

I don’t care who wants to be a jazz singer

9m went from being a bedroom musician to an artist now under the limelight – after such an abrupt change in status, how does she perceive herself? “I’ve actually never stopped creating, and as a female creator, femininity has long been a concern of mine,” she says. “As for jazz music, that’s just one part of what I’ve studied. Today my main creative focus is searching for the value of being ‘myself.’ It’s hard to say what I’ll want to talk about in a few years.”

爵士女伶谁想当，我都没关系，给你或妳当吧！

As more and more people are beginning to hear her work, her shows in Taiwan have begun to sell out, and with this success, she’s even scheduled tour dates abroad. It might still be too early to say her childhood musical dreams have come true, but this is definitely a promising beginning. At this point in time, planning for a full-time career as a jazz singer might be jumping the gun. But she says it doesn’t matter where life takes her – what’s important is the music. “I think music is music. It doesn’t need a hard definition. Having a style is good, but the spirit of music is not making distinctions,” she says. “‘Jazz performer’ is a label other people put on me when they were trying to help me out. I just want audiences to get to know 9m88 better. I don’t care who wants to be a jazz singer. None of that matters. The main thing is to do what you like.”